


So wrapped up in a daze

by Anaile20GH



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Futbal Mini-Bang, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 19:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3581703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anaile20GH/pseuds/Anaile20GH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soulmates AU. Steven teaches English Literature and Xabi is a foreign writer in Liverpool searching out inspiration for his next book. They meet in Jamie’s pub and their story starts to write itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So wrapped up in a daze

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ferlily1987](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferlily1987/gifts).



> For mi costilla ferlily1987 :) ... I hope it can reach your high standards of "soulmates" thing and this is my version of this universe, so you now what you can get. Thanks to the mods of Futbal-Minibang for gives us this opportunity to be creatives again! 
> 
> [rubiconjane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rubiconjane/pseuds/rubiconjane) was the artist who chose my fic to made the lovely banners and icons! Gracias :-* they're lovely. And [anonlytree](http://archiveofourown.org/users/anonlytree/pseuds/anonlytree) was my beta this time, thanks for the precious time you dedicated to made this all thing pretty and decent! ILY querida!

 

 

_**SOULMATE…** _

Steven writes on the board and then turns to his students.

\- “Ring any bells?”

-“Cheesy,” a female voice pipes up from the back of the auditorium, inevitably followed by giggles.  

-“Well, the majority of us would think that but these eight letters were the building blocks for virtually all the greatest love stories ever written. Romeo and Juliet, Tristan and Isolde, Lancelot and Guinevere, Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy-”

-“Bella and Edward...?”

-“Are you _serious_?”

Steven smirks.

-“Bernice is about to get a nosebleed at this one, but... yes, in a way. The principle is universal: you have two people handpicked by destiny for one another, lots of obstacles in the way for true love to conquer, etcetera. Go back in time, to the era of Aristotle, and you get to the first conceptual definition of soulmates in Plato’s essay Symposium. We’re going to get a little philosophical about it, just like our friend Plato… actually, it was Aristophanes who said it, Plato just wrote it down paraphrasing him. You’ll find it in his soliloquy about the meaning of Eros, its origins, which Plato attributes to an ancient myth.”

Steven sits on his desk, his right leg bent under his left and reaches for his notebook, leafing through the pages, searching for a particular note.

-“There it is… our favourite eccentric storyteller claims that…”

_Once upon a time the earth was surrounded by androgynous or hermaphrodite creatures. They were globular, with rounded back and sides forming a circle. They could walk both backwards or forwards. When they wanted to run, they performed cartwheels on four hands and four feet. Eventually, they threatened to scale the heavens and attack the gods. Zeus then humbled their pride and diminished their strength by splitting them in two. Each half was left with a desperate yearning. They ran together, throwing their arms around one another, entwining in mutual embrace, desperately longing to grow again into one. They didn’t care to do anything apart. Enthralled with love, they were soon on the verge of dying from hunger and self-neglect. Zeus felt pity for them, and turned their reproductive parts around to the front so that by their mutual embracement they might at least breed. Now when humans meet, they might lose themselves in an "amazement of intimacy" and even spend their entire lives together. Yet, they are quite at a loss to account for this intense desire. Little do they realize that it is simply an ingrained necessity, a hereditary need to restore a primeval wholeness. (1)_

Steven closes the notebook and searches for the expectant glances of his students.

-“Those cartwheels were seriously fucked up, huh?”

-“But Zeus was considerate at the end, he gave them a penis and a vagina…”

Rolling his eyes out, Steven watches his class turning into a riot of laughs and murmurs.

-“I’m not going to discuss either of those oh so lofty conclusions, but if we go beyond the myth itself and whatever your reaction to it may be, it’s actually interesting when you think about how old the soulmate theory is. All religions have a verse or a passage about it, it’s been picked up in literature across all cultures - the romantic notion of The One transcends borders and you’ll find it in most major works; there are even psychology and neurobiology papers on the significance of soulmates... Then you have websites full of stories of common people claiming to have met theirs in the most unusual circumstances, you’d never believe how creative they can be. There’s apparently a universal human need for the belief that there’s someone out there just for you, someone who can be a missing puzzle piece that fits in effortlessly. Should be a rich source of inspiration for future best-seller writers like yourselves. So that’s your next assignment:  give me your best, most devastating love story. Make a grown man weep! I’m giving you the opportunity to go as creative as you can be, so... I want the prologue of your stories by next Wednesday. We will discuss the structure of it in a bit. Now, where were we in our last class? Marco, give us a summary…”

 

 

Steven is a simple man who loves simple things. He enjoys teaching and reading anything he gets his hands on. There’s a whole new meaning to “job satisfaction” every time he bumps into a former student who’s usually more than happy to reminisce over a cup of tea and cookies about _Professor Gerrard’s Greatest Ramblings_.

He loves taking his golden retriever Sam for a walk, every day at 6 pm, ready to toss him his old, chewed up, formerly green tennis ball. Steven tried once to replace it with a new one, but Sam refused to even sniff at the impostor of and Steven had no choice but to rummage through the trash for the old one.  

He goes to the pastry shop near the University of Liverpool where Bernice, his favourite student, works every Thursday and Friday after class. The girl can write _and_ make the most delicious magdalenas and a coffee to die for. It’s often seasoned with her dark sense of humour and plenty of jokes at his expense. Steven pays in kind by teasing her about her monumental crush on Marco, his German student with a promising future as a writer. Not that he can’t understand her infatuation with the campus’ blond gem, because if Steven were into cute youngsters ten years his junior... and if only he weren’t a student, if only he weren’t _his_ student... Or, more importantly, if Marco weren’t straight. Which Steven isn’t. Doesn’t remember ever being for that matter.

He has been in serious relationships (twice) and several others that weren’t worth getting out of the house for a fourth or fifth date. The actual relationships he’d ended because he wasn’t too crazy about the significant others making demands and ultimately when it came to making a choice between _living_ _together_ or _maybe we should end this,_ the choice had been disappointingly easy. Steven didn’t hesitate to make that call, twice. Call him a commitmentphobe if you want, although he’s not a friend of labels, Steven would understand why people would think that, but well... he _loves_ his space.

Which is true. He loves the confines of his flat, with the smell of old books and the rusty colours of pages. He enjoys waking up on Sunday, closer to lunch than to breakfast, with Sam licking his face, knowing that if he doesn’t want to get up… he just won’t. He loves to watch reruns of The Twilight Zone till 3 am if he feels like it, with no one claiming the TV or his companionship on the bed at 9 pm.

And he’s content with it.

Steven sometimes reads an old notebook, one he has carried with him since he was a kid. It takes him back to the scrawny teenager obsessed with crime novels whose best friend was Edgar Allan Poe rather than any of his footie mates who never understood why he was like a moth to a flame, ready to burn his eyelashes on the pages of _The Murders in the Rue Morgue_. At 13 he decided to become a writer and bought a notebook beautifully bound in black leather. It had cost a fortune in that time, almost six months of his pocket money, but it was one of the best days of his short life when he smelled the rough essence of the finest shelter.

Steven started to write short stories and poems, but mostly for himself. He had never showed his writings to anyone, and as the years went by, the idea of succeeding Agatha Christie died with his growing love for teaching. Steven turned out to be a blessing for his friends, especially those in his English class, helping them with their homework and essays, slipping into an easy routine of saving their asses multiple times. It was a natural choice when he decided what he wanted to be and he didn’t regret not sharing his more creative side with the world just yet. He had always thought that it would happen when the time was right.

Lately, he thinks otherwise. He believes now that his time has passed and he can only imagine what might have been, if only he hadn’t been so afraid of it.

Afraid of putting his work out there, of being measured and found wanting by his own lofty standards.

That’s why Steven has kept his words for himself. No regrets.

But sometimes he’ll go back to read them, a small smile playing on his lips at his younger, more naive but more hopeful self, thinking… _but what if…_

 

~.~

It is one of those afternoons when he pushes the sugar levels in his blood into dangerous territory, stuffing his mouth with all the free pastry he can get from Bernice.

-“God bless your metabolism, if I ate half of what you’re eating right now I’d end up having to roll all over the floor like… tomorrow!”

-“I don’t think God has anything to do with it, but thanks for telling me that you worship my body anyway.”

-“Yeah, it’s what keeps me up at night, my gay professor’s ass... Welcome to my life!”

Steven catches Bernice’s eyeroll and he bursts out into a loud and slightly surprised storm of laughter. He can’t believe that he can still get away with messing with her after so many months.

-“As a matter of fact, you are keeping me up all night lately: I hate your new assignment! How can I find inspiration in something I believe is nonsense?”

-“I doubt most sci-fi writers believe in aliens either. You’re a good writer Bernice, you’re very creative, I’m sure you’ll find your muse.”

-“My muse is telling me the whole soulmate thing is crap.”

-“What’s the matter? Why are you so reluctant about it?”

-“Because. It’s just…  so overused, it’s just a wide open trap of mediocrity and literary clichés waiting for you to fall into it like a fool.”

-“That’s the challenge, to create something meaningful without falling into it. You guys are underestimating the theme, I don’t see any difficulty in finding inspiration in it and create an interesting story. Take two people in any context and make them realize they’re meant to be together.”

-“That’s easy for you to say, you’re not the one who has to impress to Professor Gerrard of all people.”

-“You’ve impressed me before Bernie, I trust you.”

-“Yeah, right.”

-“The real question now is… where’s my coffee?”

When he looks up, Steven can identify the cause of the delay in his favorite student’s beautifully coloured cheeks that are suddenly a coquettish shade of red. He follows her dumbstruck gaze to the back of the room and sees a smiling Marco who is walking towards where Steven is sitting and takes the empty tall chair besides him.

-“Abusing the perks of tenure again, aren’t you, Mr. Gerrard? …Hello, Bernie.”

-“Hi… hola… err… hello”

-“I do pay for my coffee, you know.”

-“I’ve been told it’s the best coffee around campus, is that true?”

-“There’s truth in advertisement for once. Bernice can make you a cup that’ll get you about as near to a religious experience as you’re likely to get. Her magdalenas are also divine, trust me.”

-“Well then, I guess I have to try it.”

-“So what’s your flavour of choice? We have cappuccino, latte, mocha… black and straight up.”

-“What’s your favourite?”

-“My what?”

-“I think Marco wants to try your favourite… coffee.”

Steven chuckles and not even the _I’m going to kill you_ look from Bernice is distracting him from all the material Marco is serving up on a cookie plate for him right now.

-“Let me guess… you look like a latte kind of girl. Am I right? It’s an educated guess… I think you can’t avoid the disappointment of not really enjoying the rough flavour, can you? It seems you’re not fond of the reinventions, only faithful to the classics.”

-“Actually, it’s because I’m allergic to the whipped cream to be honest,” Bernice says, ignoring the disapproving look from Steven for failing to carry on for his amusement. The blonde boy she’s staring at is enough to capture all of her attention along with her suddenly confident smile.

-“Oh, well… At least I tried. Latte for me please,” Marco says. 

-“Make it two.”

-“Right away,” Bernice turns to the coffee maker still smirking, but with remainsof that red shadow still lingering on her cheeks.

-“I don’t know why she’s trying to play hard to get now,” Marco whispers.

-“Because she’s as stubborn as a mule.”

-“I thought she liked me.”

-“Oh, she likes you…a lot. But I think we’re dealing with a case of wounded pride here. Didn’t know you liked her so much.”

-“Why I would not? She’s brilliant, she makes cakes and I love cakes.”

-“Then you’re in it just for the cakes, I presume?”

-“It’s one of my reasons, yes.”

When Bernice returns to them with two steaming cups of coffee, she’s greeted by the sight of both men smiling and she thinks that today can’t possibly get better, she’s just not that lucky.

-“Sugar or sweetener?”

~.~

It’s a Friday night, the pub is teeming with the usual patrons and a whole new lot trying to find shelter from the relentless rain. The sky seems intent on falling down one heavy raindrop at a time and not even the beer-soaked racket inside the pub can cover up the roar of the storm raging outside. Steven’s at the bar, listening to his friend Jamie (or at least trying to listen to him) go over his plans to propose to his girlfriend, his soon to be fiancée, should she be crazy enough to accept him.

-“Jamie, we’ve been over this: location is important, you have to make a good impression. Bringing her to have dinner here…  I don’t think she’ll appreciate that to tell you the truth. What do you plan to feed her before asking her to spend the rest of her life with you, fish and chips? Honestly, mate…”

-“She loves fish and chips, why would she mind it? Plus, this way she wouldn’t suspect anything and taking her by surprise is the whole point, don’t want to give her too much time to think about it, do I?”

-“Well, if you want to surprise her, first you need to do up the place a little bit for the occasion, right? I don’t know, maybe some live music, pay that kid down the street to strum his guitar here for a couple of hours and call it a concert. Get some flowers; candles… make this shithole look decent for a change.”

-“I didn’t think about music…”

-“You don’t say... Also, it wouldn’t kill you to put some effort into looking nice for the evening, use some face wash maybe, put on nice suit. A new one, I think she’s seen you already with the purple one.”

-“You have so little faith in me, you’re hurting my feelings, lad.”

-“Stop being a soft arse, I just want to be sure you’re going to do this right.”

Steven takes a sip of his beer and he stares at his friend with an incredulous look, like it’s just hit him.

-“What?”

-“I can’t believe that you’re getting married!”

-“Well not yet, she hasn’t said yes, that part has to come before, you know?”

Steven laughs and nudges Jamie’s shoulder with fondness mixed with a bit of pride.

-“You got nothing to worry about, she’ll say yes. She’s put up with you all these years and looks at you like you’re the finest things to walk on two legs, God knows why…”

-“Wanker!”

Steven is halfway through his bottle when two very drenched men rush into the pub to the soundtrack of cracking thunder and fresh blasts of rain. One of them is a regular Jamie spots from under his wet hoodie and greets with a familiar raised hand. The other one is still by the door, struggling out of his soaked raincoat and muttering.

-“Puta lluvia de mierda!” – Steven can hear the man’s swearing and he smiles because he can understand what he’s saying. Bernice complains in her mother tongue a lot, much to Steven’s amusement.

-“It takes some getting used to…”

The stranger turns his face to him and it’s a quite nice face, to put it mildly. Suddenly, Steven’s stomach feels tighter and his blood warmer and he tells himself it must be the beer. His mouth might be hanging open a little, stuck on the man’s slow smile and his lingering hazel eyes, but so what.

-“I've seen worse, but it’s not a friendly welcome to town, we agree on that.”

He closes in on Steven in two steps, rain dripping onto the floor from the raincoat that’s now draped over his arm, but his dark red sweater looks dry. _Must be a very good raincoat_ , Steven thinks.  He clears his throat in an attempt to regain some composure; he has been very lost in a space of two minutes, more or less.

-“Expect a lot of it then, but by the time you’re done with your trip you might even get attached to it. It’s part of the town’s charms.”

The man laughs, and Steven can’t avoid but smile as well.

-“Well I’m not exactly a tourist, but I like what I’ve seen so far.”

-“Just a newcomer then?”

-“Most likely,  yes.”

-“Is this your first time getting stranded in here by rain?”

-“This is beyond rain by now, I’m expecting an ark to float by the windows any minute now.”

Steven nods and sips his beer while the man invades the space on his side, taking the empty chair though he does ask –“Do you mind if I sit here?”

-“Not at all.”

Steven is not exactly a shy person, but he very rarely strikes up a conversation with a stranger at the pub. And when he does that, it’s mostly because he’s bored out of his mind and Jamie is too busy to entertain him and he doesn’t want to go home yet. He generally enjoys his beer alone, just watching people and listening to their idle bar chatter.

Granted, most strangers who walk into Jamie’s pub look nothing like this man, so warm and comfy in his red sweater that’s just a bit darker than his neat beard, so they don’t get to just glide in as easily and sit next to Steven to chat. They also generally drone away in the local Scouse vernacular rather than sexy continental accents, so there’s that. 

Steven is completely astonished with himself, his reactions and thoughts. 

-“Any recommendations on how I could warm up in this place? I doubt they’d get me a cup of hot tea.”

-“No, but I’d like to see you try, just for the look on Jamie’s face. I’m afraid warm beer would be your only option.”

The man’s frown of disgust is all the reply he needs.

-“I think I’ll stick to regular beer.”

-“Alright. Jay, can we have two more, please?”

-“Gracias.”

-“You’re welcome.”

The man lays his eyes on Steven, still smiling and offering his right hand. Steven takes it, warming up the cold touch of his palm with his own hand. Steven fingers move independently of his brain, he’s just along for the right watching his own thumb slowly grazing the man’s knuckles.

-“I’m Xabi.”

-“Just Xabi?”

-“Xabier Alonso,” the man says now, a wide grin slowly blooming on his features, and Steven introduces himself without letting go of his hand.

-“Nice to meet you Xabier, Steven Gerrard here.”

-“You didn’t mispronounce my name, that’s a first!”

-“Dumb luck probably.”

Steven drops his hand and Jamie pushes their beers down the bar, slick like the cheeky grin Steven’s trying to ignore. Steven knows the man too well to play into his hands and he can do a great job at embarrassing himself, thank you very much, so he knows all too well what Jamie’s cooking up behind that just yer friendly nosy bartender facade. Steven has to admit the way he was gaping like an idiot in front of this man –Xabi-, wasn’t exactly hard to miss, so he can’t fault Jamie for refusing to let such an opportunity to take the piss just pass him by.

-“And this one’s Jamie.”

-“Hola, Jamie. I’m Xabi.”

Jamie waves from his side of the bar.

–“Hiya, mate. Let me guess, Spanish?”

-“Not hard to guess, right?”

-“I have one working here and you talk funny like him, but he’s off tonight. Think maybe I should give him a call, this place is about to burst! And Rickie’s a lazy arse who’s drinking all my booze… Lambert, come on! Get a move on those fucking tables, I don’t keep you here for your beer-chugging skills, mate!”  

Xabi raises his eyebrows at Steven and starts to drink his beer with a hint of caution under his the twinkle in his eyes.

-“You two are friends?”

-“For as long as I can remember, this is what I put up with on a regular basis.”

-“He seems nice.”

-“He’s alright. So Xabi, how long have you been around town?”

-“This is my third week.”

-“And what brings you to Liverpool of all places?”

Xabi’s smile is truly contagious. He looks at ease, comfortable. Steven feels comfortable with him, it’s kind of weird since he’s known the man for all of ten minutes, but they seem like very long minutes to him.

-“I’ve been to London before, and I always wanted to come back to the UK, so Liverpool seemed like a nice option. I like The Beatles, so if I’m honest that was probably also part of the reason.”

-“You take your picture with the Yellow Submarine?”

-“And with the Strawberry Field Gates, of course.”

There’s another thunder followed by the loud staccato of intensifying rain crashing against the windows.

-“Well, it seems that we’re going to be stuck here for a while, Xabi...”

-“I don’t mind if you don’t.”

-“Not at all.”

~.~

-“It’s my turn to know something about you. I still don’t know that many people here, only my landlady and the people at work.”

-“Well, let’s see. I’m a professor, I work at the University of Liverpool, I’ve lived here my whole life. Uhm, I’ve been to your Basque Country once, had a couple of days in San Sebastian.”

-“You took your picture by the railing of La Concha beach, right?”

-“Of course, we don’t get summer sunshine like that around here, I wasn’t going to miss my chance.”

-“Tourists!”, Xabi says, shaking his head while taking another tentative sip of his beer. Out of the corner of his eye he catches Steven licking his lips every time Xabi’s mouth goes anywhere near the bottle. It’s a harmless thing, surely unconscious, but still... the Spaniard’s lips curl up in a tiny self-satisfied smirk. It’s the little things.

-“What do you teach?”

-“English Literature. And an advanced course in Creative Writing.”

-“Well... what a coincidence: I’m a writer.”

-“Really?”

-“Yes. I’ve written three books so far, all in Spanish though. Trying to write my first one in English at the moment.”

-“So that’s what brings you here then. Looking for inspiration maybe?”

-“I guess.”

-“And you gift onto the world words of wisdom about…”

-“Anything that interests me, especially if it can be molded into a good story.”

-“You’re a storyteller then.”

-“A good one, yes.”

-“Not low in self-confidence, are you?”

-“I know what I am good at, that’s all.”

-“I bet.”

 

 

The only constant in Xabi’s life is his typewriter: a Remington deluxe model 5 in shinning black, a gift from his grandmother on his fourteenth birthday. His Amona was the person who most encouraged Xabi’s natural talent for writing. Before the Remington he’d leave her little handwritten notes and fragments of poems scattered all over her house.  She loved to read to Xabi adventure stories from a young age and his grandfather, who was a journalist, loved to tell stories from his days as a war correspondent.

The first time Xabi packed the Remington in his suitcase was when he left home to go to university in Barcelona and he ended up spending more time in the library with his very own curriculum of obscure tomes and novels none of his professors had ever heard of than in any of their classes. Although it bored and frustrated him, Xabi graduated Letras as a matter of duty to his parents and then it was time for the Remington to go back into the suitcase. He hasn’t stopped packing and unpacking it since.

Xabi wanted the world, nothing else would do. He was hungry for experiences, to soak it all up and let it flow back out in his stories. He’s 33 now and he’s mastered the art of making other people’s towns his own and other people’s lives his environment. He feels like he belongs everywhere at once.

He always has one suitcase and his typewriter. That’s how he arrives to his next destination.

And that’s how he always leaves.                                    

He never spends too long in one city or country, and even less with people. He likes people, enjoys their company, but he never gets attached to them, especially to those he could theoretically get attached to. That’s why he never gives anything but his all to all of his relationships, but makes no promises. He makes sure every time that every one of the people he’s loved passionately in the here and now know he’s not there to stay. Those who still love him after the suitcase is long packed, well… they’d had plenty of warning. 

He thinks it’s easier for everyone involved as long as they understand he’s made his choice and this is his life, always on the move.

In the end, none of his lovers have much to complain about.

He makes sure of that.

 

~.~

 

Xabi’s trying to understand what’s happening to him.

He’s mentally making a dissertation about how to become utterly... mesmerized by a local. (The city itself also has its own rainy charms, so it makes sense that everything converges.) 

It may not make much sense, but Xabi’s absolutely and completely infatuated with this man.

Since he laid his eyes on him and in the moment he heard his voice.

It’s odd, not least of all because it generally happens in reverse (oh yes, Xabi knows this all too well).

Objectively, the causes behind the little flips his stomach’s been doing all night are quite easy to identify.

Steven’s smile and how his face lights up every time he talks about something he likes.

Steven’s eyes, all that blue Xabi only remembers with such intensity in waves warmed up by the sun.

Steven’s passion for what he does, the way his whole being transforms when he talks about it. 

How much he teases Jamie.

How much he teases him.

The speed with which he’s become fascinated with Xabi isn’t hurting either.

Xabi’s never too shy to admit that he doesn’t like to waste time on courtship rituals when it comes to enjoying someone new, but it never happens this fast.

Everything is just on the right side of strange.

-“I mean, I don’t want to be a spoilsport, but closing time was about two hours ago and unless you plan to sleep on the table, I suggest you get the hell out of my pub.”

Xabi wakes up from his reverie and Steven stops abruptly his chatter and glares at Jamie who’s yet to wipe the knowing grin on his face. They’ve been the only patrons left for a while now while Jamie’s been wrapping up for the night and Rickie has been attempting to clean the bar while swaying and admirably trying managing not to fall on the floor in an inebriated heap.

 Steven is shocked to discover the time it is.

-“Five hours?!? That’s gotta be some kind of record.”

_All the time in the world will not be enough to have all of you_ Xabi wants to say.

-“I wasn’t paying attention to the clock to be honest,” it’s what Xabi actually says.

-“Me neither. Do you live far from here?”

-“Not really, about five blocks.”

-“OK, let’s go.”

Steven bids Jamie and Rickie goodbye, although it’s doubtful he’s capable of recognizing any humans other than his pain in the arse boss at this late hour. Xabi waves at them and Jamie throws him a heartfelt “welcome to the city, lad” and winks.

When they step outside, the rain has stopped but the chilly wind blowing well into late hours of the night (or rather the very early hours of the coming morning) freeze both men to the spot as their bodies recoil from the change in temperature.

-“Fuck!”

-“I think if we start to walk right now we still have a chance to survive,” Xabi says between trembling lips and then he's chuckling when he sees Steven jumping up and down with his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

-“Let’s go before we die from hypothermia.”

They start to walk in silence and with hurried steps in order to preserve warmth.

-“You think you’re used to this kind of weather but when you get caught out in the street at three am on a February morning, hell…your balls say otherwise.”

Xabi’s laugh mixing with Steven is the only sound in the world at this hour.

-“Is that proper talk for a Teacher of English Literature?”

-“For a half-frozen one, yes.”

They reach the building where Xabi’s flat is. Steven catches himself thinking it’s too bad it’s not a little farther away, he doesn’t want to say goodbye yet. He’s surprised to admit that to himself, but the night has been full enough of surprises as it is, what’s one more.

-“Uh... do you want to come up? Maybe have a cup of hot tea before we call you a taxi or something,” Xabi says, words tripping all over each other in his rush to disguise his nerves behind the shiver-inducing wind. Oh yes, he’s nervous and it pisses him off a bit, flustered just isn’t one of his looks.

Steven opens his mouth to say yes, fully aware of what would happen if he does accept Xabi’s offer.

No taxi would be called, he would never make it back home, and the dawn would catch him under Xabi’s sheets and probably inside him. The idea is quite appealing, but if Steven is very honest with himself the last thing he wants from Xabi is a one night stand. Xabi’s slight hesitation when he made the proposal was also not lost on him. Steven can read the uncertainty in the man’s eyes, like he’s following a script, going through the motions of how a meet-cute-stranger-at-the-bar-shamelessly-flirt-for-hours night should naturally progress.

There’s something else there, something Steven can’t label or put into words. And no matter how much he’d love to get to the Restricted 18 certificate part of the script, what worries Steven is that those kinds of movies don’t normally get a sequel.  He’d really like a sequel though, with same expectations he’s having right now.

-“That’s kind of you, but I think I should get going. There’s a cab station just around the corner.”

Steven notices the relief in Xabi’s eyes matching his own. Xabi gives him a smile and before he goes, he pulls out of his pocket a napkin stamped with Jamie’s coat of arms from the pub and presses it against Steven’s fingers. His touch lingers a bit more than required, but just enough to make a point.

-“See you soon.”

Steven is suddenly alone with the folded paper in his hand, words and numbers barely visible on it, as he watches Xabi disappear from sight.

 

**_No deja de ser maravilloso_ **

**_como en lo profundo de tu serena mirada_ **

**_y en esa sonrisa que se esconde en tus labios_ **

**_pueda apreciar la grandeza de tu existencia (2) _ **

**_07978 483354_ **

The lines get imprinted on Steven’s brain, sealed in the back of his mind, but he’s never throwing the napkin out anyway.

He goes to sleep and dreams about a childhood memory.

When he wakes up midmorning the first thing he does is touch the scar on his right thigh.

The next thing he does is smile.

He falls asleep again with Sam on his side.

 

~.~

It’s Sunday when he decides to call Xabi. They spend an hour on the phone and Xabi sounds sick despite his stubborn insistence that sick is one of those things that happens to other people. Steven tells him that it’s normal to nearly catch your death at least two times per Merseyside winter and Xabi is not amused because he already sounds like staying conscious requires some superhuman effort. Steven offers to go to his flat with a bowl of life-saving hot soup but Xabi tells him that his landlady has been too nice to him and she has made him a lot of chicken soup and gallons of tea already.

Steven hopes to distract Xabi with details about the latest assignment for his students, but by the time he gets to discuss a particular student’s essay he realizes that Xabi would be one of those professors that everyone would look up to with equal parts awe and terror. It takes him less than three minutes to destroy the poor guy’s thesis over the phone and Steven feels intimidated, mostly because he had thought that it wasn’t _that_ bad.

He changes the topic. They talk about the books that Xabi sells in his bookstore.

On Tuesday, after class, Steven is surprised to find Xabi waiting for him in the hall outside the auditorium. He looks less rain-soaked than the night they met and it takes Steven a good minute before he can stop gawking at this old Hollywood version of Xabi, trying to figure out which is idée of him is the disguise, the crisp suit or the lovely red sweater.

What draws him most to Xabi is that he carries with him this mysterious cloud hanging over him like he’s going to surprise you (in good or bad ways) at any given moment, and those stories behind that little knowing smile. There’s an undefined sense of danger about him and if Steven had any self-preservation instinct and put a label on him it would be that, because Xabi is definitely unpredictable. It may be a little too soon to jump to conclusions about someone he’s just met, but Steven is good reading people and he believes in first impressions.

Five hours (plus the one on the phone the other day) had been enough for him to get a clear sense of Xabi. And he likes him.

A lot. Probably _likes_ isn’t even the right verb for it.

He’s very intrigued by Xabi and he can’t help but want to look on the other side of the mirror – this foreign writer is someone Steven could have been in a different lifetime in which he made different life choices.

-“I wanted to sit in one of your classes, but it seems I’m a bit late.”

-“A little.”

-“Bummer...”

-“Oh I don’t think so.”

Xabi frowns at Steven’s words.

-“To be honest, I’d be very uncomfortable having you in one of my classes, you’re very hard to impress.”

-“Whatever gave you that idea?”

-“Well, your reaction to a five-line summary of my student’s work was, and I quote... _not that pompous literary magazine mierda again! Tells him that a career in a publishing house selling books rather than writing them is probably in everybody’s best interest, the world doesn’t need more mediocrity_. You need to meet Bernice by the way, she’d like you.”

Xabi’s grin is a delight.

-“You’re saying you’d be intimidated if I sat in your class?”

-“My students would be.”

-“I didn’t ask about your students.”

The way Xabi raises his eyebrow makes Steven bite his tongue.

-“Well, they’re my only concern. I’d be fine.”

-“You sound pretty sure.”

-“I know what I’m good at too, Xabi. I’d live, but I need to protect my apprentices from your cruel ways in which you’d tell them their writing’s crap. I have nicer ways to break it to them.”

-“A mediocre rose by any other name...”

-“That’s not going to happen.”

-“If I promise to be good, you’d let me?”

-“I’ll think about it”

-“OK, so... got any plans after work?”

-“You can go with me to this place I know you’d love.”

 

~.~

 

-“Can you smell that? It’s probably one of my favourite smells, baked cookies!”

The way Steven inhales so deep and how he can feel the sweet aroma invading his lungs makes Xabi’s heart ache. It has been so long since he had felt this way, yearning a feeling that has been denied to him for years.

He’s learned to lock those memories very deep in his brain, only looking for them in times when his moments of loneliness are too much to bear. 

Steven notes the change in Xabi’s demeanour, the way his smile falters and the sadness that has clouded his gaze.

-“You OK?”

He shakes his head and takes a sip of his water, he breathes deep and looks straight into Steven’s eyes and for a moment he thinks that he can act cool again and shut down his feelings the way it’s become second nature for him.

But then, the way Steven is looking at him makes Xabi realize that ability is not an issue, he definitely can shut down like so many times before. He just doesn’t want to.

He feels naked of all a sudden.

He feels his guard slipping away.

It’s the first time he’s felt the need to tell this part of the story to anyone. He looks at the glass of water between his hands and smiles.

-“I spent most of my childhood between my parents and my grandmother’s house. Every day after school my brother and I would run into grandma’s kitchen and she always had a mug of coffee with milk and cinnamon rolls waiting for us, it’s the smell of my childhood. We would play football until dark, until Amona would come and practically drag us into the house, my mother waiting to takes us home after work. When I was about 12, Mikel was already too cool to hang out at grandma’s every day, but I kept going, there was no way I was giving it up. She was my favourite person, she told the best stories, you know? I could sit there at the kitchen table, with coffee and rolls between us, and listen to her for hours, rambling about great-great grandfathers who hunted whales and sailed all the way to America. One day, just before the summer holidays, we were in her kitchen and she was laughing because I’d written her a story which she found hilarious. She looked happy and gorgeous and full of life. Then she turned to the stove and suddenly I saw her swaying and starting to collapse. I was fast enough to not let her touch the ground, but she felt so heavy…  we both toppled to the floor.

She died in my arms, I just sat there with her until her chest stopped moving and I closed her eyes.

I didn’t really notice the anosmia until the week after the funeral. The doctors said that probably it was caused by the shock. They couldn’t find a better explanation because all test results came back normal.  Apparently anosmia can be the product of trauma, so… well, shit happens.”

The silence lasted until Steven could find his voice again.

-“You can’t smell… at all?”

-“No. Sometimes I think I can, but I’ve learned to tell when my mind is just playing tricks on me. I remember how some things smell, well everything I smelled until I was 15. But they’re just memories. Anything new… I try to guess if I can. It’s not something I even think about most of the time. Still, coffee and cinnamon I can go back to every time I feel like it.”

A waiter places two mugs of coffee and a plate of magdalenas on their table and Steven feels a mixture of guilt and sadness.

Xabi only smiles, bittersweet and tenderly and grabs one of the mugs. He takes a sip, then another.

-“I bet it’s delicious.”

-“Best coffee in town.”

-“You’re a very weird Englishman, I thought you only drink tea.”

-“Eh, I can do both but it’s not my favourite. Definitely a coffee person, me.”

-“There’s one thing to like about you after all…”

By now Steven’s used to feeling warm and pleasantly stupid around him, but what Xabi says next also makes him feel genuinely touched, despite the shade of discomfort crossing Xabi’s features while admitting it.

-“I never told anyone what I’ve just told you, you know? Only my parents and my brother know about it. I don’t meet a lot of strange men to whom I feel I could tell everything about me”

-“And I want to know everything about you, Xabi. You can trust me.”

_But you shouldn’t trust me, I don’t want to let you do that._

Xabi let his thoughts vanish with the sight of the raw sincerity in which Steven talks to him. And the only thing he wants is let Steven in his life like no one ever had. It frightens and excites him at the same time and he’s trapped right in the middle of two very different storms crashing into each other.

 -“The night we met you mentioned something that caught my attention. I want you to show it to me.”

-“Show you what?”

And the way Xabi sees Steven’s face light up is a suggestion of how things are getting very and unsurprisingly messed up.

Or… really fucked up.

Xabi is doing a pretty good job not giving a flying fuck about what’s very likely to happen.

He still thinks he can maintain some sort of control over this. He’s also really good at self-delusion sometimes. 

 

~.~

 

-“You know, I thought you were pulling my leg, mate, but… it’s real!”

-“It’s still in perfect condition too, I could never use anything else to write.”

They’re in Xabi’s flat which is pretty small but very cozy and clean. There’s a small table, a sofa, and a desk where Xabi’s typewriter (the object of Steven’s admiration that’s sucked up all of his attention for the past half an hour, much to Xabi’s disappointment) lays. There’s a sheet of paper in it, with a phrase interrupted in mid paragraph, and a few more pages stacked on the table by the typewriter. The words are in English but Steven doesn’t read them and Xabi is silently grateful to him for respecting his boundaries, even though it might have more to do with Steven’s fascination with the typewriter. Xabi watches his finger lightly caressing the keys and Steven looks up at him with the wide smile of a child in his favorite playground.

-“My uncle used to have one, the bastard wouldn’t let me even breathe next to it, though I guess I wouldn’t like a snotty teenager’s paws all over something this beautiful either. He was a true collector at heart.”

-“Yes, collectors go crazy for it. I’ve got several very good offers for it, but I’d never sell it. I think I’d sell a kidney rather than my typewriter.”

-“Promise?”

It’s getting dark, the grey clouds are slowly sucking up all the light in the room and Steven knows that the chances of another storm are pretty high.

Xabi’s not making any promises, but he is getting closer and closer to Steven until his lips are on Steven’s neck. The way Xabi’s breath catches when he gets his fingers under Steven’s sweater and further up under his shirt makes him smile, while the way Xabi smells like citrus and oak makes Steven close his eyes and sink his nose into his hair.

Xabi kisses him as if he knows already just what he’s doing. He’s excited to taste and touch and explore Steven, the way Steven’s mouth fits with his and the way Steven kisses back making his head spin already.

Xabi’s the one who breaks the kiss, along with any physical contact with Steven, making him crave his touch almost instantly. He takes two steps back and Steven doesn’t let him put more space between them. Xabi’s panting through slightly parted lips and the mix of confusion and shock in his eyes makes Steven dazed with desire. The next step Xabi takes away from him is one too many and Steven pounces on him like a feline trapping his prey in his claws. He devours Xabi’s mouth until he feels no more air in his lungs and has to take hot breaths between kisses, while Xabi clings to him in need of so much more.

Their hands are travelling over each other’s bodies as if following well-worn invisible roadmaps. Their lips go over every inch of each other’s skin and their every synchronized movements feel new but familiar at the same time. Xabi comes undone, losing himself with Steven in him and the sounds he makes… it’s perfect, absolutely perfect and Steven thinks briefly with the bit of consciousness that remains intact in his brain of how lucky he is to have this, at last.

It’s too much and he only wants more. More and more.

And Xabi lets him take everything, desperately needing to satiate both of them.

Steven surrenders to the unbearable need in him and his body lays heavily on top of Xabi, but the last thing Xabi feels like doing right now is complain about it. He wraps his legs around Steven’s waist and tenderly slips his fingers in his wet hair while leaving soft kisses on every patch of skin he can find.

They fell into sleep moments later, Steven’s hand on Xabi’s chest. 

 

 

-“Professor Gerrard?”

Steven wakes up from his reverie and his students are watching him bewildered, some even concerned.

-“Huh?... Ah. OK, drop your works on my desk, you’ll have your grades by next week.”

Marco stays behind while Steven grabs his students’ masterpieces piled up on top of his folders. He looks a bit flushed and more than a bit unmoored.

-“Need help, Professor?”

-“If you don’t mind, I’ll take this to my office.”

-“Let’s go then.”

~.~

 

-“What’s wrong with you, Steven?”

Bernice asks while placing their cups and plates before Marco and Steven. Marco suddenly gets up from his chair, takes her face in his hands and kisses her straight on the lips. Bernice goes crimson with shock, blush creeping down her skin all the way to her neck.

-“No more bullshit, tonight’s the night: you, me, dinner, tonight!” Marco practically hisses and then he kisses Bernie’s again, even more intently, but quick enough to not draw any attention to them.

Except Steven of course and he’s laughing at Bernice’s face.

-“OK, Gerrard... your turn!”

-“Oi… not that it’s not tempting, but I don’t think the Dean would appreciate me being a third wheel on my students’ dates.”

Not even that gets a reaction from Bernice, she’s still trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.

-“Ha ha, you’re killing us. Now talk, come on.”

-“About?”

-“What’s going on with you, you spent the whole class looking like a zombie. We’re starting to worry you’ll go all Night of the Living Dead on us, so... what’s up with you?”

-“Nothing important.”

-“Nothing important?” Bernice says, finally back in control of her senses. “You looked lost the entire class, so it’s freaking us out a little, you’re always high on life and art and truth and beauty and all that.”

-“Chinese or Italian?”

-“What?” Steven looks confused.

-“Marco, come on! The grownups are talking!”

-“I’m just asking what you would like to eat tonight.”

-“Did I say yes? I don’t remember saying anything like it.”

-“I didn’t ask you, I was just informing you. Now, I’m letting you choose what you would prefer to eat, but I can eat anything, I don’t mind tossing a coin.”

-“OK, fine! Chinese.”

Marco’s face is all one huge smile and Bernice melts, inwardly of course. She is carrying her poker face stoically, like nothing happened.

-“Whatever you like Bernice.”

She ignores him and tries to focus on his friend, who looks to have finally snapped out from his daze just in time to laugh at them.

-“Who’s the guy?”

Steven looks up at Bernie and back down to his plate, keeping silent and quietly tucking into his dessert. His phone vibrates in his pocket and after a quick look he drops the spoon and bolts out of his chair to make a hasty exit from the shop.

-“I hope the guy’s spectacular in bed, I’ve never seen him like that before.”

-“He probably is. By the way, you’re very beautiful when you’re flushed, I would love to see more of that,” Marco winks and Bernice rolls her eyes out, but she now she’s getting even redder, despite her attempts to hide it behind her mug.

-“Just get the hell out of my shop, Marco.”

-“I’ll pick you up here at 8 then.”

-“Whatever.”

The big grin she sets free on her face once Marco’s out of the premises is still there at 8 o’clock and for a good while after.

 

~.~

Steven’s fingers are caressing Xabi’s thigh, with Xabi sleepily kissing his neck in the meantime. They’re in Steven’s bedroom and Xabi hopes the door’s properly locked because washing dog’s drool off his face once had been more than enough. Sam had reacted with unexpected enthusiasm to having a visitor and had practically tackled Xabi to the ground while Steven stood there laughing at him instead of helping him escape.  He’d eventually sent Sam chasing his ball in the balcony and dragged Xabi to his room leaving a trail of clothes in their wake.

Steven expects to get either complaints or pats on the back next time he meets his elderly neighbours but he plans to hear Xabi screaming when he comes inside Steven’s throat every from now on.  

In the aftermath of their encounter, Steven’s getting used to the softness of Xabi’s skin while they’re lazily kissing and touching each other. Xabi’s right leg is wrapped around his waist, keeping him close, all warm skin and lazy fingertips enjoying the goosebumps raised under their touches. Steven focuses on a rough spot on Xabi’s thigh, the skin turning ridged and rough in a long line. Steven lifts his head just enough to get a view of the big scar going up Xabi’s thigh from his knee.

-“Xabi?”

-“Mmmm?”

-“How did you get that scar?”

Xabi feels Steven’s hand going still over his leg. He turns to the spot on Steven’s neck he was sucking before Steven interrupted him.

-“I was 8, I was playing football on the beach with my brother and some friends. It was a hot summer day. Mikel stole the ball from me and I saw red, slid into the tackle with all my strength, but when I landed on a sharp rock sticking out from the sand... practically ripped my thigh in two. I was so mad that if it weren’t for the blood and Mikel’s horrified face I wouldn’t have even noticed. The pain came later: 50 stitches and a whole summer holiday wasted inside the house of course.”

Xabi feels Steven moving and he reluctantly lets Steven sit down on the bed since for his part he has no intention of moving a single muscle nor change his position on the bed.

-“I have one too, same place as yours.”

Xabi is finally curious and he lets his gaze travel to the upper part of Steven’s body until it stops over Steven’s right thigh. He not only has a scar of his own, but it’s almost of the same size as his, an angry white line drawn on pale skin.

-“Summer of 1990. I was ten, we were visiting one of my father's relatives in the country side. My cousins got the brilliant idea to steal apples from their neighbour’s very tall picking apple tree. I wasn’t paying attention to the branches near me, all I cared about was out picking my cousins...”

-“Competitive apple stealing? Nice.”

-“Yeah, well... after a while, I heard my mom screaming her head off to all of us because it was getting late and it was time to go inside the house. I was halfway down the tree when one of the branches broke and I landed on the ground like a sack of potatoes. Got a knock to my head on my way down so I was out for a while, woke up in the car with my uncle and my parents and a throbbing pain in my thigh. You got me beat though: only 48 stitches and grounded for the summer.”

Xabi touches Steven’s scar and says -“Is this some Bronte sister’s code for _we’re meant to be_?”

Steven wrinkles his nose at him but when Xabi kisses him laughing and dragging him back on top of his body, Steven suspects that Xabi’s closer to the truth than he’d like to admit. 

 

~.~

They start to spend a lot of time together.

Their nights are equally divided between Xabi’s flat and Steven’s.

Xabi is getting attached not only to the old collections of books in Steven’s house, but also to Sam, to his immense surprise. He buys him a new tennis ball and even convinces the son of a bitch to play with it. Steven keeps the old one just in case but Sam completely forgets about its existence, sniffing at it with contempt as if to say _this disgusting thing? Really, human?!?_

Steven is nowhere near as amused by it as Xabi is, in fact he’s downright jealous and Xabi asks if it’s because he wants a ball too. Steven bites his tongue hard in retaliation.

When they’re in Xabi’s flat, their mornings are filled with the smell of fresh coffee and Steven feels transported to the pastry shop because Xabi’s coffee tastes exactly like Bernice’s.

He learns that the secret is a cloth coffee strainer, which results in far superior coffee to what you’d get from a coffee maker. Sharing that secret to Bernice ensure not only that she falls completely in love with Xabi, but also in free cakes every time they go to the pastry shop. Steven knows that Xabi can barely taste the flavour of food but he still complements Bernie regardless.

Marco on the other hand is not a fan, so he mostly just sits there listening to their conversations with a scowl on his face, cursing himself for only knowing German, bad German, very good English, fluid French and Italian swearwords. His only Spanish vocabulary is limited to what he’d picked up from Bernie when she’s angry and curses him like a sailor or when she’s all wet and hot around him and also curses though in a fairly different register.

Now that Xabi’s around, Marco’s considering asking Bernie for lessons though. He’d dearly want to know what exactly it is that gets her so giggly around Xabi and since when does she _ever_ flirt anyway.

-“You sure he’s gay?” Marco asks Steven watching Bernie and Xabi do that thing where they talk with their hands, Xabi’s eyes shining and Bernice is flushed with laughter while Xabi’s touching her curly hair over her shoulder. Gross.

-“You want details, Marco?” Steven is deeply focused on the book he’s reading, a gift from Xabi.  Marco ignores completely Steven’s comment and just goes on quietly fuming.

-“I mean... look at them. She’s _flirting_ with him and he’s all charming and mysterious and I can’t stand their freaking Spanish!”

-“You’re jealous.”

-“Of course I’m jealous, I want to know what they’re talking about. Look how Bernie’s face lights up. Look how she’s smiling, she’s freaking gorgeous and not because of me...”

-“Oh, dear God! Is this what it’s all about? I’ll make sure to take a picture of her face next time she makes moony eyes behind your back like you’re the eight wonder of the modern world. Stop worrying about Xabi flirting with her, he flirts with everyone. It’s in his goddamn nature, he can’t help it.”

-“And you don’t mind?”

-“Nah, I like that about him. It was a little unnerving at first how he can have the world eating out of his hand if he so pleases.”

-“You admire him like he’s on display or something.”

Steven thinks there’s some truth in it. He likes watching Xabi interact with the world, how he can make everyone fall a little for him and how perfectly aware he is of this. Steven can’t be jealous, not when is one the things he most loves about Xabi.  

-“C’mon, that’s just weird. You don’t mind if he flirts with men like that too? OK, it’s one thing with women, but with men… it really doesn’t bother you?”

-“As long as he goes home with me at the end of the day... Trust me, he has this effect on dogs too, probably on anything with the pulse. If he didn’t like garlic gnocchi so much, I’d keep a sharp stake under the bed. He’s free to do whatever he wants.”

_Well not exactly_ , Steven thinks. But he doesn’t want to sound possessive person. Besides, he truly trusts Xabi.

~.~

And Xabi tried.

The hard part is to keep faithful to himself, not to Steven.

He's had his chances to stick to who he is and not to involve Steven’s feelings in it.

Not that Steven has to know it, but still.

He fails at it eventually. For the first time he cares enough to make him question himself. It scares him but rather than talk about it, he goes straight to Steven’s home and quietly lets Steven take him in his arms and do to him as he pleases. Steven’s good at it too, at making him feel wanted. It’s enough for Xabi to convince himself that there’s nothing else for him out there when he’s with Steven. There’s a vortex in him and Steven is at the epicentre of everything.

 

~.~

Xabi is sick and spends the day at Steven’s. It’s late when Steven gets home and is greeted by Xabi reading a book on his sofa. Then he notices it’s not just any book.

It’s Steven’s notebook and Xabi is completely absorbed in it, a little smile playing on his face.

Steven’s throat goes dry and suddenly he feels anxious and nervous. Not angry, just nervous. This is the first time someone is reading his notebook and it’s Xabi of all people. He wants the ground to split in two and swallow him up.

When Xabi realizes that Steven is there with him, he close the notebook and walks to him noticing the nervous look in Steven’s eyes.

-“How did you find it?”

-“I was bored and started to browse your shelves. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was supposed to be a secret.”

-“Kind of,” Steven clears his throat but keeps an expectant silence.

-“You want to hear what I think about it?” Steven just nods, timidly.

-“I didn’t think you had it in you. I mean, you were 13... but you had such a great imagination and everything is neat, the grammar, the dialogues, the sequence of actions. It flows well, kept me reading and everything wrapped up nicely at the end. It’s a good story. The poems are great too. Why you didn’t keep writing? You were good.”

Steven has not answer, he’s too busy swallowing air.

He could have been good. It’s all he needs to hear.

-“I chose something else.”

-“Don’t you regret it?”

-“I didn’t then and I don’t think I will anymore.”

Xabi is a little confused, but this is Steven after all. It seems that the knowledge that he could have been one of the best is enough for him, but not necessarily what he had wanted to do for the rest of his life.

-“I’m sorry if”-

-“Hush… thanks for doing it,” Steven kisses Xabi hard, overcome by a general rush of gratitude for having Xabi in his life.

For the first time he feels complete. And he can move on.

 

~.~

Xabi is making coffee one early morning while Steven’s still asleep and Sam is chewing on his new ball. The familiarity of it all knocks the air out of Xabi’s lungs, something he reacts to with annoyance mixed with fondness. He fills his coffee cup, remembering the smell to the hot liquid when it actually hits him.

At first, Xabi thinks that it’s just that, the memory of the smell but it gets more intense and he freezes on the spot, his lips parted. He takes one deep breath, inhales hard and again the smell fills his nostrils. Steven rubs his eyes sleepily and frowns when he sees Xabi laughing like a mad man and Sam barking at him.

-“Glad to see you’re having a laugh with each other, but can you keep it down a little? It’s not even 8 am on a Sunday, for fuck’s sake!”

Xabi practically runs to Steven and buries his nose between his neck and his collarbone, inhaling deeply, kissing and tasting all over until he convinces himself that Steven tastes like mint. And his smell is rough but sweet, that sweet musky scent he’d always imagined on Steven.

Steven chuckles because Xabi’s beard tickles, and when he finally sees Xabi face, his eyes are wet but all he can see is happiness there. Steven drags his thumb away from the moisture pooling at the corner of Xabi’s eye and he doesn’t want to ask what’s happening but his eyes are searching Xabi’s face for a sign.

-“I love you.”

Is the first time Xabi says it. It’s the first time it’s said between them.

Steven smiles and kisses the breath out of him.

-“I love you too.”

-“I can smell you.”

-“What?”

Dumbfounded is such a good look on Steven and Xabi can’t stop kissing him.

-“Are you serious?... How is that possible?”

-“I don’t know and I don’t care, but I can smell again and I don’t really fucking care why. I just… shut up!”

Steven shuts up for the rest of the day.

 

~.~

-“I told you, you had it in you.”

Bernice smiles when she sees her grade and Marco winks at her from across the row.

-“Time to share your future book blurb with your lesser colleagues, Miss Bernice.”

-“Well, Esteban is a man who believes that everything is part of a major plan, that everything happens for a reason. Nothing in his life is a product of casualty, every action is pre-planned and it’s all a part of the bigger picture. He meets Amaia, who sings in bars and is all about carpe diem and living in the moment. She’s happy, optimistic and full of life. The fall in love almost instantly, Esteban attracted by her beauty at first but then captivated by everything about her. Amaia sees in Esteban the promise of a quiet love, simple, pure and passionate, something to keep her grounded and content. They go through a lot of obstacles until they realize they can’t be apart, that their love is more important than anything else. It’s about hope and trust.”

Steven listens carefully to Bernice’s summary until about halfway through.

He’s thinking about Xabi and how much he misses him.

He hasn’t seen Xabi in three weeks.

Three weeks and Steven has never felt this sad and lonely in his life.

And he has no clue where Xabi is.

 

~.~

-“Are you OK?”

-“I’m fine.”

Bernice and Marco exchange glances while Steven is absently playing with his food. It was Marco who’s in charge to invite Steven to a celebratory dinner and to his surprise Steven actually says yes.

Not that he’s showing any signs of enjoying this night out.

Bernice sighs with murderous intention. She’s determined to kill the bloody Spaniard if she ever gets her hands on him, no matter how hard it could be. Marco simply doesn’t understand what happened between them but he’s willing to help his girlfriend bury the body.

Steven had got used to having alone time with Xabi. It wasn’t something they’d ever discussed much, they would be apart for three or four days and Steven was grateful for it. Sometimes he just wanted to be alone, and certainly Xabi felt the exact same way because he could tell when they got to that point. At first it worked like a charm. Steven wouldn’t know anything about Xabi and vice versa for a few days and suddenly Xabi would appear in his flat and everything was better because they would always have new things to tell each other.

Until it stopped to be a need, until the days in which they wanted to be apart had been reduced to one and then to none. Xabi started to bring his typewriter to Steven’s home and Steven would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of its keys. It would sometimes go on into the small hours of the morning until Steven would drag Xabi to the bedroom to let him sleep a few hours until it was time to get ready for the day.

The more time they spent together, the less they wanted to be apart.     

Steven noted how Xabi was getting restless, like he was constantly at war with himself. He chose to let him be in those moments, thinking it was better for Xabi to have his time alone, but then coming home had turned into a roulette of probabilities about which version of Xabi he’d find: red for quietly angry, black for desperately restless.

It made sense to Steven and the last thing he wanted was for Xabi to be afraid of him walking out of his life.

Steven had thought the same.

One day, Xabi didn’t come home. It was not a big deal, his typewriter was there.

Two, three days…five days…

A week.

That’s when Steven started to think the worst.

Two weeks and then a third. Steven wanted to throw the typewriter through the window, blow it up to pieces if he could.

He didn’t find his notebook, the bastard had taken it and he left his typewriter.

Even Sam is sad.        

He says goodbye to Marco and Bernice and goes home. When he opens the door, Sam doesn’t come to greet him like he always does and he starts to feel a little worried.

The living room is dark but he can recognize the man sitting on his sofa with Sam’s head on his lap, his fingers kneading the dog’s neck. Xabi’s suitcase is the middle of the room and Steven shoves it a little closer to the door. He walks to the sofa and sits next to Xabi, his heart racing madly in his chest, but he tries to keep calm.

Sam leaves them alone, preferring to curl in his big basket in the kitchen.

-“I went to San Sebastian, I saw my parents, my brother. I saw grandma’s house but I couldn’t go in. An uncle lives there now. You know how long it’s been since last time I was there? Fifteen years...”

-“You’re OK with it?”

Xabi shrugs.

-“My parents were happy to see me, my bother too.”

Steven takes Xabi’s hand, sighing with relief.

-“I’m not used to needing someone, to be in one place. I’ve sort of... lost the notion of a home, of what it means to have coordinates, to let someone be a part of me. And suddenly I met you and all those things I thought I didn’t want were the only thing it was worth to have. It’s... dangerous to put your life in someone else’s hands, when we are the most fragile ones, when it’s hard for us keep promises.”

-“Xabi, you can trust me. I love you, there’s nothing more you need to know.”

Xabi smiles at him and it’s a huge relief to see he hasn’t forgotten how to.

Steven kisses him and it feels like they’ve found each other all over again.

It’s how they start to being an all.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> (1) [Soulmates](http://www.academia.edu/1320004/_Soulmates_in_The_Encyclopedia_of_Love_in_World_Religions_ABC-CLIO_World_Religions_Project_Ed._Dr._Yudit_Kornberg_Greenberg_Santa_Barbara_California_et._al._November_2007_pp._593-597)
> 
> (2) Translation: It’s a little wonder  
> how in the depths of your serene gaze  
> and in the hidden smile on your lips  
> it can be seen the greatness of your existence
> 
> The title of the fic came from [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p9ELYMhJZlI)


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